


He Was Never Mine to Lose

by kaylaber1



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, sad af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylaber1/pseuds/kaylaber1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of holograms' fic "My Heart is Stone and Still it Trembles"</p>
<p>No, Gatsby tuned out all right in the end. Unfortunately, Nick wasn't as lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Was Never Mine to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [He Was Never Mine to Lose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441843) by [NewBeginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewBeginnings/pseuds/NewBeginnings)
  * Inspired by [My heart is stone and still it trembles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181791) by [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms). 



> So basically, soulmate au where everyone has their soulmate's last words written on them. Credit for the AU goes to Ao3 user holograms.

The words had always seemed queer to me. Most people had something great and profound, their soulmate's last words poetic in nature scrawled upon chests and circled around wrists, but mine was completely ordinary. Anyone could have said "Well-Goodbye" to me innumerable times throughout my lifespan, and so it brought me frustration to glance upon the soulmark that encircled my left ankle. I resolved to always wear high socks, lest someone take notice of it. And yet, in one swealtering, dreary summer the words took on a new meaning. 

It was the summer of 1922, and I had just moved to a small formation on the Long Island Sound known as West Egg to become a bondsman, much to the satisfaction of my family. My cottage was small, and just a bit of an eyesore, but comfortably nestled in between the large, sprawling mansions of the "new money" inhabitants with whom I shared West Egg. The more notable of my neighbors was a Mr. Jay Gatsby. 

I have met few men who have captured my attention in such a way that Gatsby had. He simply had a way about him that intrigued me. He seemed to vibrate with intensity and hope, and his every word demanded to be heard. However, I think it was his smile which captivated me the most. He had that sort of smile that you only encounter once, maybe twice in a lifetime. But none of that really matters anymore. I've already told that story. This is the last piece of my memoirs, think of it as what was edited out for the public. 

On the night of Myrtle Wilson's death, as I had written in my memoirs, I stayed with Gatsby through the night. We had walked aimlessly through his grand and now hauntingly empty mansion as he confessed to me his life's story, our footsteps echoing upon the cold marble of the floors. I regarded him with a softness that was uncharacteristic of me in those moments, hanging onto his every word, savouring it, analyzing it until I was certain that it was truth. In those wee hours of the morning, he came alive to me. No longer swathed in elegant lies, Gatsby became a man, and he was utterly beautiful to me.

Before I continue, allow me to say that I am no stranger to the forbidden passions of my own sex, nor am I exclusively deviant in sexual nature. But nothing I've ever felt for any woman or man could hold a candle to those feelings that blossomed within me as we sat upon the dew covered lawn, his hand clasped within my own, silently taking in the view of the beach as the night slipped away, melting into the vibrant colors of a new dawn. Sometimes, I return to that moment, when the morning gave way to his hand in mine, head unashamedly resting upon my chest. He was solid. He was real. He was Gatsby. I will forever carry the regret of not kissing him in that moment.

Lost in the bliss of his company, I barely registered the passage of time and before I knew it, the sun was climbing high into the midday sky. He had pleaded me to stay with him, to make use of that untouched pool, to wait for a call from my cousin that was certain to never arrive. But against my better judgement, I had insisted upon taking my leave. As I turned and started down the drive, his parting words to me stopped me in my tracks.

"Well- Goodbye!" He had said with a wave, and my heart sank in my chest. 

I chose my next words carefully, knowing now that these were the last I'd ever say to him.

"They're a rotten crowd. You're worth the whole damn bunch put together!" I called to him as I tried to choke back my tears

He paled, his whole body going rigid as though I had turned him to stone, and I knew that the words were familiar to him. His clear blue eyes fixed upon me with a forlorn sort of defeat as we simultaneously realized the irony of it all. Knowing there was nothing left, I forced myself to turn from him, my feet crunching in the gravel as I walked down the drive.

Those few hours I spent at the office were agonizing. Hardly a moment was spent on bonds as I pondered which one of us was to die. I thought back on all those hours I spent watching him chase after Daisy. It all seemed wasted. I silently cursed him for his hopeless dwelling in the past, and cursed myself for not realizing sooner the true nature of our relationship. When my telephone rang, the sound shrill and grating on my ears, the world stilled. 

I had done the only logical thing, and hopped onto the next train looking rather haggard and feeling even worse. When I arrived at Gatsby's house, my heart broke in half. Police cars lined the drive, and a big white ambulance had parked right out front, it's sirens deepening my horror. I felt sick as I ran to the back, to the pool, where I knew I'd find him. 

I nearly lost my breakfast at the sight. George Wilson lay in the bushes, his brains splattered across the lawn where Gatsby and I had been only hours before. And Gatsby... well, I knew he had been dead for some time the minute my eyes met his body. The color had begun to fade from his tan skin, and the wound in his chest had long since stopped its bleeding. Nonetheless, I ran to him, kneeling by his side. It was then that I noticed it. His swimsuit had laid bare to me his soulmark. Etched across his left collarbone was the only compliment I had ever bestowed upon him.

_You're worth the whole damn bunch put together_

My hand flew to my ankle as I finally allowed myself to cry. I pulled down the sock to look once more upon the lettering.

_Well- goodbye_

This time, I heard it in his voice, and the holocaust was complete


End file.
